


Strawberries and Whipped Cream

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Southside [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Kisses in the rain, Lingerie, Protective Jughead Jones, mechanic!betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11073288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: Jughead's blaming it on biology.





	Strawberries and Whipped Cream

They're on a date at Pop's with actual food - not Starbread Panerabucks crap - with real ketchup out of real glass bottles. Betty sits straight as an arrow next to him in Jughead's usual booth. He slurps the last of his strawberry milkshake, puts down his glass, stretches into a long and complicated yawn.

Betty looks up from her notebook, unimpressed. “Did you just pull the moves on me? Lame.”

Her pencil, Jughead vaguely notices, is new with a sharp point and one of those extra erasers he could never afford. “I actually invented that move, so technically everyone else who uses it is lame. I, on the other hand, am being original as usual.”

“Uh huh.” She signals Pop with one finger, which means another milkshake is coming his way. “You used that move in 8th grade to steal my pizza. And by the way, Mr. Originality, you have homework to do.”

He doesn’t feel like doing homework. Jughead wants to wait until the diner clears out so he can sneak a kiss, plus he’s ready for his second shake. “Don’t got any,” he blusters.

“You don’t _hav_ e any, except I’ll bet yes you do. Give me your laptop.”

With an exaggerated groan for her benefit, Jughead hands it over. The screen is smudged, as usual, and there are random documents all over the desktop. Betty tsks and swabs the screen with a Magi-Wipe she somehow has stashed in one pocket. She drops the wipe into her napkin and begins to sort his stuff into five meticulous folders.

Keeping his arm propped on the back of her seat, he watches the process. Jughead can picture her doing the same thing in, say, a neatly organized garage. All her tools would be tacked up on a pegboard, and she’d keep them all polished. There’d be old jars filled with fuses and bolts or tire irons or whatever mechanics needed for the job.

Jughead would slouch into the garage and see her there in her coverall, bent over the engine. She’d hum along to an old radio playing the theme to Route 66. He’d lean against one wall and watch until she realized he was there and snap at him for the mud he just tracked in on her nice clean floor …

The picture is so tangible and lovely he has to pretend to cough to hide the delight conjured up by his own imagination. Betty murmurs something about a fake yawn, and now a fake cough, what’s next, a fake fart?

All in all, Jughead is having one fine afternoon.

Until _he_ walks over to them. Chuck lounges on one corner of their booth and eyes up Betty. “Having a nice playdate, kiddies? Heard your new ‘parents’ had to drop you off, Slughead. They going to drive you to the dance this weekend too?”

“You’ll never know, since you probably can’t find a date.” Betty’s eyes spark with anger.

“Oh, I got dates. Just have to decide which one’s the best-looking and who begs the most.” Chuck looks down his nose, whistles a long _Pffffft_ , and takes off. Naturally he has to bump against Jughead’s shoulder as he goes.

“Don’t you mean which girl charges you the least?” Betty says, but Chuck has already left.

“Damn, woman.” Jughead tightens his arm around her. “That was an epic comeback - too bad Chuck didn’t hear it. _Mal d’escalier_ and all that.”

“I’ll Mal d’escal his butt if he insults us again.”

Jughead drops his arm and turns to her. “I don’t want you going near him.” It occurs to him that she’s a strong, independent woman who should live life on her own terms. “If that’s okay by you.”

“Believe me, that’s absolutely fine. Aha – see, I knew you had homework. You have to do these sets of math problems, finish your essay, and study biology. Don’t groan again – you’ll frighten the other customers.”

He’s about to let loose his loudest and most deliberate groan when the waitress puts another strawberry milkshake in front of him. Jughead frowns at the frosted glass and touches the rim. “Where will the math biology torture take place?”

“In my kitchen so you can have a nice long chat with Mom? Kidding, Juggy, don’t tickle me! Finish up and we’ll walk to the Riverdale library.” Betty giggles and squints at his laptop screen. She looks so cute Jughead thinks his stomach might just flop out on the floor, right there in front of everybody.

Slowly he slides his drink over to Betty, eliciting a shocked gasp. “Are you giving me your _shake?”_

“Not hungry.”

Betty closes his laptop with one firm finger and turns to him in the booth. “What’s up? Because you’re always hungry. Now I’m worried.”

“Argh.” Jughead fists his hair. “It’s the yahoo who just gave us the time of day. It – well, it drives me crazy that he got to see you. Wearing. You know.”

Her eyes widen, which means they’re in danger territory. “Chuck saw me in my _bra?_ Is that where this is heading?”

“Betts, I blame biology. It just sucks when I think he got to – and yes, I know it was all part of a plot – a master plot at that! I don’t think anyone realizes how devious you were!” Jughead picks up her perfectly-sharpened pencil and bounces the eraser on the table. “And kudos for coming up with such a great plan! With black lace, no less! But when he looks at you I want to bruise my fist on his left cheekbone again. And probably you should tell me to shut up now.”

He flicks his eyes at her. Betty’s cheeks are pink, and her ponytail seems spikier than usual. She catches his chin and forces him to face her directly. “Mr. Jones, are you mad because I wore lingerie that night?”

“No. I’m just mad he got to see it.” Jughead's throat clicks when he tries to swallow.

She tips her head back, eyebrows raised in what he realizes is full comprehension. “Ah.” Jughead waits to see if he’s in real trouble. “I threw the black lace bra into the wastebasket because Chuck is foul. But it just so happens,” she adds slowly, “I have more lingerie.”

Betty’s pencil drops from his fingers and clatters loudly in the hushed diner. “Oh. Huh. Is that so.”

“It’s so. Now, let’s split this shake, get out of here, and go do some of that homework.”

#

They walk to the library in spiteful weather, rain tinged with ice. Betty chatters about practice, and school, and her friends. Jughead wafts along beside her, not really listening until he realizes she’s asked him the same question twice.

“Yeah, okay,” he answers automatically.

“Juggy.” Betty tugs his sleeve, and they stop on the sidewalk. “I just asked you how you were getting home. What’s on your mind?”

“What’s on my mind?” he repeats. “Betts, I’m an adolescent male whose girl brought up lingerie a while back. What do you _think_ is on my mind?”

“I see.” The flickering streetlamp highlights her wide grin and rain like diamonds in her hair. “Hm. You’re probably a retro kind of man. Garters? Fancy stockings with seams up the back?”

The suggestion punches into his chest like a steam train. Jughead closes his eyes and expels a shuddering breath. “Stop,” he begs. “I’m dead. Okay? You just killed me. Happy now?” Suddenly weak, he leans against the post of the streetlamp. Betty in a full skirt, wearing hidden silky thingamabobs that only he would see later … No. He can’t think about it.

When he opens his eyes she’s right there in his face, pulling him into some serious business tasting like strawberries with a hint of tongue. And just like a beautiful movie star from the 40’s, she breaks their kiss off way too soon and snuggles into his shoulder. “Hey, it’s raining,” Betty points out.

“There's no getting anything by you," he manages to get out. "Ever consider being a reporter?”

“Come on, you.” She hitches up her messenger bag and motions with her head. “Library. We’re going to study biology.”

“Biology,” Jughead agrees.


End file.
